The Thread That Binds
by SpaceSpirit
Summary: One-shot. Virgil almost loses his life on a rescue and his brothers attempt to work through that.


A lot can happen in three minutes.

On average, fifteen earthquakes occur around the world. Lightning strikes the earth seven thousand times. The heart pumps over two hundred gallons of blood. Eight hundred people are born.

Four hundred will die.

On a good day, Gordon can swim the 200 meter butterfly in two minutes and thirty-two seconds, the breaststroke in two minutes forty-nine, and the freestyle in one minute and twenty-seven. On a bad day he'll meet the three minute mark like an old foe and wear that bronze medal as though he really _is_ proud.

On a good day, Alan can beat the hardest level of his favourite videogame with five seconds to spare on the three minute deadline. On a bad day, he'll only get that much time to play before he's called away on another rescue.

On a good day, at two hundred and fifty miles per minute, Thunderbird One can fly almost the entire length of New Zealand in three. On a bad day, Scott will hate himself for not pushing his 'bird faster to make it in time to save someone's life.

On a good day, John will answer no calls in three minutes. On a bad day, he will answer two.

Today is a bad day.

It's a bad day because they get two calls. It's a bad day because Scott's halfway across the world and can't fly fast enough to where his brothers need backup. It's a bad day when John's spread so thin he can barely brief them.

It's the worst day when Gordon can't swim fast enough to reach Virgil.

The water bites at his skin like a cold wind through flesh, like the breath of a grave, like something unfamiliar and hostile. Usually he powers forward with an organic precision. His movements should be rhythmic, assured.

But Gordon doesn't recognize these waters.

Rimmed by ice that slices at his uniform, this choppy sea swallowed Virgil whole and gives no sign of spitting him back out. Dark hair dipped below sheets of ice without so much as a whisper, leaving Gordon surrounded by nothing but an expanse of untouched white and stormy grey.

It was silent; a solitary crack echoing into the wind as though Virgil had never existed at all.

Gordon doesn't think he could live in that world, so he dives in without a thought and now he's treading water like an amateur. Usually he's the type of person that will wander into the ocean with raw confidence. It's brought on by a hope that he will find the horizon somewhere in watery depths, but not here.

No, he's good at appreciating its beauty, its strength, but now he doesn't think he's ever hated water quite so much.

It's hard to swim when muscles want to freeze, when visibility is down, when the finish line is something far more important than winning a stupid medal. When the wind is howling its mournful cry and _Thunderbird Two_ sends eerie groans into mountain ranges, Gordon can't focus on just his body and the sea. He absorbs atmosphere, always has, always will, and there's no way to shut it off. Even when a brother is dying.

It takes him one minute to reach Virgil and, by then, Gordon's own body is rupturing into violent shivers.

It takes ten seconds for trembling hands to grasp uniform, fifty to drag his heavy form out of the water and onto ice, fifteen to call for help that will never arrive in time, ten to feel for a pulse, twenty to yell Virgil's name in a voice as broken as the ground through which he fell, six to snap himself out of it, and three to start CPR.

Virgil's heart stopped for exactly two minutes and fifty four seconds.

Gordon could have won a race; Alan beat his game, and Scott flown by a country in the space that their brother wasn't breathing. Gordon's races were always timeless, an eternity trapped in a sphere of nerves and adrenaline.

This was timeless too.

The minutes drag upon his spirit like leaded weights, hands pressing into Virgil's chest at the speed which this very brother taught him to do. Every unanswered breath Gordon takes for him is wrapping tight ropes of panic around his chest. It leaves little air for himself, but Gordon doesn't mind.

He's always shared everything Virgil's had; it's never too late to start paying him back.

Unless it _is_ too late.

Gordon hisses through his gasped breaths and fights back thoughts that threaten to swallow him like that sea.

Virgil lies there like a warrior at rest, with pale skin and chapped lips. Perhaps that's what he is. Because Virgil's the type of person that will fight the beasts of the world with a paper shield and wooden sword, only if it means containing what is _good_. He would battle armies on his own and shift the ground beneath feet to fight for what he believes in.

Saving lives is what he believes in. That's what he was trying to do today.

Virgil is a sensible person. Often he thinks it makes him boring, more than often Gordon likes to remind him of that. But on occasion, Virgil will dismiss that book of common sense in favor of giving people chances. Those are the days Gordon wishes he could take back everything he's ever said about Virgil, because a man that gives kindness far more than he gets it deserves a brother far _better_ than Gordon.

Right now, surely it's a privilege to be his brother's heart, _this_ brother's heart, even just for a moment.

Gordon's not sure how long it takes for Virgil to cough. Perhaps it was three minutes; perhaps it was a life time. When he does it is a single golden thread of hope, interweaving warmth with ice.

oOo

"I read this story once where a woman's heart stopped. When she was resuscitated she remembered a whole different world while she was...gone. Do you think that happened to Virg?" Alan asks it casually.

Gordon's not sure why. It doesn't exactly belong in the zone of casual questions, nor does it really belong in the zone of _ask Gordon._

It's either casual because Alan's really not that interested, his fingers moving halfheartedly over a controller as aliens zap elves for some unexplainable reason. Or maybe he adopts the tone because he expects Gordon's _answer_ to be casual. Maybe he phrases it in a way that sounds offhand because he's afraid that Gordon will laugh at him for being _too_ serious.

Gordon doesn't blame him for that. He's called Vigil _too serious_ so many times that it defeats the purpose of the joke.

There is a perfect time and a place to _be_ too serious. Now would be one of those times. But still, Gordon gives Alan what he expects, like he always does, and replies with a tone of relaxed indifference. "I dunno Al. I'm not a mind reader. Maybe you could ask him yourself when he wakes up."

Alan's side glance suggests that his words were filled with less indifference and more hostility.

Gordon meets his eyes for a brief moment before looking away. Out of necessity he forces a smile onto his face and nudges a shoulder into Alan's. "Hey, since when did you _read_ anyway?"

Alan snorts and drives an elbow into Gordon's ribs. "A damn site more than you."

"Hey, I _do_ read," Gordon's chuckles. "I just don't read about death."

Alan's shoulder tenses.

There's a pause that unthreads time.

Gordon curses silently, smile slipping from its hinges. Any sense of humour vanishes as silence trickles lightly upon them. His fingers tighten on his the controller and Gordon pretends to be too focused on what he's doing to notice his slip-up.

Alan's shoulders eventually unfreeze as time unravels. He leans back against the wall with his feet hanging off the side of his bed. For a moment, Gordon is relieved that the subject is dropped. But it is with a low whistle that Alan's next question is asked. "Do you think that happens when you die? That you just…slip away to somewhere else?"

That question most definitely shouldn't be in the zone of _ask Gordon._ Gordon swallows and reaches one hand back to rub at the base of his neck. He tries for another chuckle, but this one tastes bare and falls flat onto the floor. "I doubt it. You know those stories are just clickbait. What's brought on this existential crisis huh?" Gordon asks it like he doesn't know, asks it like he hasn't thought over the exact same thing. "This is just a video game Al; the elves don't _really_ die—"

"I like to think that there is somewhere else…you know, maybe not heaven but just a _place_ where you go," Alan's tone remains casual and it's curling tight strings around Gordon's chest. "Because I like to think that mum and dad are together."

The strings curl tighter.

Gordon feels as though his heart stops, memory surging his soul like a tempest. Yet he doesn't blink, he doesn't react, he just stares at the game playing before his eyes.

Fingers dig tighter into the controller, wanting to tear at the plastic to find something buried there. Perhaps he'll pull the right answer from it, something that will say _sure Alan, that's what happens_. But he comes up short. "Ah well, yeah…It's a nice thought…"

Though it's not a nice thought because it means both their parents are dead.

Gordon doesn't say that.

Not that it matters what he says, because Alan's no longer listening. He's lost in his own world and is using Gordon as a soundboard. Usually this is Virgil's job, to be the listener. To thread time back together again and get it to flow with ease, to thread _them_ back together. Even Virgil's resting face will calm people down, so it's hard not to be drawn to him in times of comfort.

Gordon on the other hand is _bad_ at serious advice, especially when every nerve in his body feels strained like a harp-string, ready to snap at a single touch. So perhaps Alan was right to ask this all casually.

Perhaps if he hadn't, Gordon would have run by now.

"So I mean, If Virgil had…well, you know, if he did slip away for a moment, I'd like to think that he saw mum and dad," Alan's eyes duck down to his hands. "Anyway, it's stupid, I know."

This time Gordon has to dig deep to find his expected tone. "It's not stupid. I mean, it's a bit like you're having an early mid-life crisis but maybe you take after Scott."

Alan attempts a smile.

Gordon's controller slips to the floor and he reaches out to place a hand on Alan's back, like Virgil usually does it. The words stick like frosted ash to the roof of his mouth. "It was only three minutes Al; he didn't die. He's fine. He was always going to be fine."

oOo

"Do you remember when Virg and I used to take you down to that shop—oh what was it called…Discovering Nature? Something like that. It had all these little plastic animals, and jars of shells, you loved it there," Scott' sitting at the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the water.

Gordon's not sure why. This is something Scott rarely does.

Gordon's attempts to ease back into friendly water have been thwarted by his brother's presence. It's not strange to have Scott's concerned eye on his back, but it _is_ strange having him talk like this. So Gordon floats in the pool, muscles straining as he swishes water back and forth.

"They had this little cave in the corner with fake glowworms stuck to the roof," Scott continues, clutching to memories as though, if he pulls hard enough, they'll come back to life. "You'd get bored after a few minutes, but Virgil wanted to sit in there for hours. _Johnny would love this_ ; he'd say, _it looks just like the stars._ He always thought of someone else…it was weird for a kid. Even back then I thought it was weird…"

Gordon attempts to throw the conversation in another direction. "Trust John not to be there. Lazy bastard, nothing's changed. He was supposed to be here by now wasn't he?"

Scott deflects his throw, a smile dancing on his lips like the wave of a sea. "Oh, and Virg used to buy you these rubber fish from there. He'd save up his pocket money just so he could get you some. Then we'd find you wearing your swimming goggles and putting them all in the bathroom sink, it made Virg so happy he'd go out and do it again." There's a pause as Scott's eyes re-focus on him. "You remember that, don't you?"

Gordon wants to tell him the truth that, no; he doesn't remember that at all. In fact most of Scott's _do you remember when's_ hold no reality for Gordon. They are stories he's heard, stories he can try to put images too, but too often he speaks of times when it was Scott and Virgil against the world. A little bit of John is thrown in here and there, either way it was a time that Gordon had no part in.

Scott does that when something scares him, delves into memories, even if he's acting unfazed. Over the past few days it's been stories of the Scott and Virgil escapades. Without Virgil around, Scott's been clinging to memories like sustenance.

Gordon can't help but wonder when Scott started looking backwards instead of forward.

He wonders if during midnight conversations _this_ is what Virgil is subjected too. It's as though there's more hope left behind him than left in front. On the other hand, Alan's started looking forward, perhaps _too_ forward now.

Gordon does neither. The past will never return, so why dwell? He'll follow his golden thread into the future, where ever it may leave, so why try guess? As a person firmly rooted in the present, sometimes he wonders if memories disappear on their own, or if he simply didn't want them there in the first place.

Virgil does that too usually, draws everyone back to a point of stable foundations, to a place where they all meet in the middle. Gordon's never been more aware of that than now.

"Yeah of course I remember," Gordon says anyway, because it will please the brother that keeps his memories like a well-ordered cupboard. "I used to give them names and everything."

Scott's chuckle is hearty and genuine. It reminds Gordon so much of Jeff that he almost sinks below the water just to stop from hearing it. "That's right…you know, Virg was always so good with you."

Gordon flicks water onto Scott, waltzing with a smile that threatens to leave the ball early. "And you."

Scott tilts his head. Something sad lingers in those eyes, a desperate longing for reassurance that he'll be able to file away _more_ memories. "Well, I suppose he was good with everyone."

" _Is_ good with everything," Gordon wades towards Scott and places a hand on his knee, squeezing it gently like Virgil usually does. "It was only three minutes Scott. Nothing major. He's fine."

oOo

"Well, brain cells generally tend to die after approximately four to six minutes of no blood flow. After around ten minutes those cells stop functioning and will be essentially dead, so you had plenty of time."

John's trying to reassure him.

At least, that's what Gordon _thinks_ he's doing, and he's not sure why. Gordon didn't ask for reassurance. In fact, he didn't ask for anything.

John's not exactly the type of person to offer reassurance either. Especially not to Gordon. He strolled into the room wearing gravity like a robe, grabbed an apple off the bench, and sat down at the kitchen table. No greeting, no falter, just one swoop of movement. For once he's invading Gordon's space, not the other way around.

They both stare out the window. A long slit of daylight breaks through the clouds like a pointed finger, and John gazes, a star into the morning light, as though he's just solved all of Gordon's problems.

Gordon bites. "Alright then. Seven minutes later and his brain would have been dead, thanks John," He raises his glass in mocking appreciation. "Really helpful. You could use that line as an ice breaker."

John turns to him, impassive as a statue. "Ice breaker."

Gordon shrugs, as though the noise of cracked ice isn't living permanently in his head. "That's what I said."

John sighs; a breath of morning, or mourning, Gordon can't decide which. "Virgil should have listened to me and let you go."

The comment slides towards Gordon, moved across the table with an impassive shove, and it's one that he doesn't want to catch. It sets his teeth into tongue to stop from lashing out. "Oh right, so in efforts to prove that you were right and we were wrong, you'd rather _I_ fell through the ice? Welcome home Johnny."

"I don't mean _that,_ " a wisp of irritation is combatted by John biting into his apple with more aggression than necessary. "You're _lighter._ It's simple. I'd rather _neither_ of you went across anyway, but since you were both so dead set on doing it, it should have been _you_. It was safer. Virgil should have known."

Gordon lifts the glass to his lips, holding John's gaze. "Well, you know Virg, more stubborn than Scott."

John rolls his eyes. "I _do_ know Virg. He's more _protective_ than Scott. He wanted to make sure the ground was safe before you crossed, as always."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You know what I mean."

"He doesn't _pander_ to me—you guys know I hate that. He _wanted_ to go first. Ok so maybe it _was_ to make sure it was stable, but...why do you make it sound like it's a _bad_ thing?"

"Because you can walk on your own." John's fingers curl on the table, a solitary twitch in his jaw.

Gordon narrows his eyes. "That's right, I can, I've had to learn how to twice in fact. You think I didn't tell him that?"

"I heard you tell him that. Quite loudly."

" _Exactly!_ I can't help that he's so…stupidly selfless. Besides, are you telling me that if it were Alan and you out there, you'd let _him_ go first? I sure as hell wouldn't."

John's eyes narrow and he holds Gordon with a gaze. It's filled with strength that's eternal as the skies, the strength of someone that constantly knows his mind, and Gordon has none of it. "That's different."

"Why? Because Alan's younger?"

"No," John remains blank. "Because I'm lighter."

There's a pause.

Gordon snorts and the tension shatters, evaporating with the break of morning. Gordon runs a hand through his hair and offers a small smile. "I know you hate small talk but would a ' _how are you'_ hurt _that_ much?"

"It'd probably hurt you more than me."

Gordon's jaw would have slipped open if he wasn't so _used_ to John being John. "Well shit, so you're protecting me from _how are you's_ and Virgil's protecting me from death? Is there a difference in there?"

John swivels in his chair so that he's facing Gordon straight on. "How are _you?_ "

"Brilliant. How are you?"

"Terrible," Gordon hadn't expected the truth. Yet John delivers it with a quick tongue and silver words. "Virgil just disappeared Gordon."

"I…I know."

"I had to watch as his vitals dropped, I had to watch as you dove in after him. And you know what? It's not usually Virgil. It's _never_ Virgil—he's the one of you I can count on to actually follow something that resembles common sense."

Gordon gets it now. John wasn't reassuring him, he was reassuring himself.

Perhaps John wanted him to go first on that ice because it would make this easier to understand. Gordon's prone to make stupid decisions. It's not that hard to wrap a head around if it was Gordon.

John twists the apple in his hand, long fingers tapping on the surface. "I was monitoring him that whole time. I didn't doubt that you would make it though."

"No? I did."

"Come on, you practically cut through that ice with your arms."

Gordon's hand rises warily to one _of_ the cuts on his arm. A muscle twinges. "Then why were you so _concerned?_ If you _knew._ Like you always do."

"I knew you'd reach him, not that he'd be ok. It's just…" John clears his throat and turns his gaze back to the light. "It's a flat feeling…"

"To not know something?"

"To watch your brother's heartrate dip to nothing."

Gordon sighs, one of mourning.

He reaches out a hand and leaves it close to John's wrist, like Virgil does. Not _too_ close, but close enough for him to know it's there. "It was only three minutes John. He's—"

"Two minutes and fifty four seconds, actually."

"Oh."

oOo

"I suppose I owe you my life."

"You don't owe me anything," Gordon's tone is sharp. He draws back and lowers himself, with limbs that want to snap, onto Virgil's bed. "Except that twenty dollars of mine you dropped in the pool once."

"Because you're in such _desperate_ straits," Virgil utters softly. Moonlight brushes the infirmary, landing on Virgil's hand as it plays invisible keys. There's a smile at the corner of his lips, as faint as the memory of a sound, but more genuine than any of Gordon's have been. "You feeling ok?"

Gordon stares at him.

Fire snakes its way through his veins. "I really don't think you're supposed to be asking _me_ that."

"Maybe not, but I just did," Virgil encases him in a timeless stare. It is non-negotiable, a hard balance between gold and light brown rays. "I've been asked how _I_ am more than enough time's today. So are _you_ feeling ok?"

Gordon screws up his nose. As much as he can defy Scott, word battle John, and ignore Alan, Virgil _might_ just be the one he has to answer to now and again. Because this is how Virgil breathes, by knowing all those around him are at peace. "I… _think_ so."

"You think so?"

"I've spent the day realizing everyone else isn't. So I _think_ so. Have they…come to see you?"

"Oh _yeah_ ," Virgil grunts, though it's not the grunt of someone tired, or in pain, it's the grunt of someone affectionate, amused, and it makes Gordon smile. "I think I gave you all a taste of what you normally put me through."

Gordon's smile falters.

Because maybe Scott's the type of soul that would risk death just to feel alive. But when someone else does it, he's all leashes and reigns, all ' _do you remember when's?'_. Maybe Alan's thoughts are more mature because of this, and somewhere along the line he's learnt to nurture them in silence. Maybe John can only distance himself when it's convenient, and correct his mistakes when they actually turn into one.

And maybe Gordon's only just realizing all this.

But maybe Virgil's always known, and maybe it shakes them to the very core thinking that they almost lost that, someone that holds their deepest weaknesses as though they're assets.

"Ah listen," Gordon rubs at his arm and Virgil's eyes find the cuts that now live there. "Did Alan ask about…?"

"Yeah," Virgil reaches out a hand and lifts up Gordon's sleeve, making sure Scott didn't miss anything in his patch up job. "I don't remember anything. I saw you, then it went black, then I saw you."

"Not exactly a heavenly being then."

"Eh, close enough."

Gordon's breath whistles through his teeth as he exhales. He studies Virgil for a moment. "But you didn't tell him that, did you?"

"No," the smile Virgil uses softly fills the silence like a speech. "I told him I saw a light. Because I think he needs to know that it's there."

Gordon can't help but grin. "And you told Scott that you remembered?"

"Remembered what?"

"Oh, nothing."

Virgil eyes Gordon warily before closing them. His hand still dances on the sheet, playing an invisible tune. Gordon watches it, and wonders how that very same hand can paint and heal and fix things— in more ways than one. Virgil cannot be defined by his artistic pursuits, or his skills as a medic, or engineer. Virgil cannot be defined unless it's by his heart, and even then it's something unexplainable.

"Did John tell you that I should have gone first?"

Virgil cracks an eye open. "He tried."

Gordon chuckles. The sound makes Virgil open his eyes again fully, a younger light deciding to play in there for a moment. "He was right, I should have."

"Well _, no_ you shouldn't have, because if _you_ fell through, there would be no Olympic medalist on standby. Just me," Virgil breaks from the tune to raise a hand to his head. "I do think these things through, you lot just have to trust me."

"We do," Gordon says. And maybe that's the problem. That they trust Virgil just a little too much; to the point where they think nothing will go wrong when in his presence. But he's human too, he's not invincible. "Even when you die we trust you to come back."

Virgil raises an eyebrow and holds him in a stare that understands too much. "It was only three minutes Gordon."

Gordon exhales a shudder, chin trembling. "I know. But a lot can happen in three minutes."

Virgil sits forward and places on hand on Gordon's back, the other on his knee, where his wrist lies. "Don't I know it," even before he speaks Gordon knows what will come next, because placing others first is just what Virgil _does._

He always has, he always will, even people he doesn't know. Perhaps that's what Gordon's afraid to lose the most.

Virgil smiles and it sheds subtle radiance, tied together with golden thread. "So, how are you _really_ feeling?"


End file.
